


His Shadow Amid the Trees

by Cthulhu_Priestess



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1600's Colonial America, Alternate Universe, Dark Magic, Demon Kylo Ren, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/M, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Obsessive Kylo Ren, Rey Likes the Dark, The Demon in the Woods is Sexy so Beware, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cthulhu_Priestess/pseuds/Cthulhu_Priestess
Summary: Rey had been too caught up in its eyes to answer before. Swirling shades of amber and black ash, a maelstrom of ruptured stars she was sure would swallow her whole. Beautiful. She wonders idly of her own sanity and of the instinctive desire in her to look always to the shadows cast by the trees.The Forest.





	His Shadow Amid the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This started as a random post on twitter and became... whatever this is.

Her fingers hurt, supple flesh worked to the bone and sucked dry by the coming winter's chill. Above the clouds cast long grey shadows, the trees below reaching with skeletal arms up high as the deepness of the wood calls to her.

Rey lingers near the stream, eyes fixated.

For months now she has stood at this little stream which cuts through the meadow near her guardian's farm. For months she has watched the gloom between the trees, longing to pass that barrier and seek whatever it is whispering so sweetly in the late night hours.

It makes her sad, hollowing out her chest in a way that leaves her desperate for warmth. Often she will alleviate these impulses with a lit candle in her hayloft, watching the wick burn black as the flame dances her to sleep. In the morning she will wake, sensing... something.

Day after day, this presence has grown, lingering with her in the predawn hours as she works the land, feeds the goats, visits the stream... And it only appears to be growing stronger. Last night she could have sworn she felt a hand at her back, deft fingers tickling her skin.

She pulls her hands from the stream, rolling up her sleeves and wiping the cool water over her arms. The wind chills her flesh and she welcomes it, closing her eyes and rising to her feet. Behind her, the bucket she was meant to fill with water brushes her ankle and she frowns.

Plutt will be angry with her for dawdling. Her guardian so easily succumbs to anger. Kaydel swears on her blessed mother's grave it is due to the sin of the drink. None of the children are allowed to go near his store of barrels in the root cellar, but Rey did once.

And it would be the last time she ever broke his rules.

Snatching the pail up from the grass, she fills it with water and starts back for the farm. The meadow goes abnormally quiet and she pauses, turning to spare a final glance at the trees, but she finds nothing, only silence.

\- o -

That night finds Rey exhausted, filthy from work and sitting at the window of her loft. The others are fast asleep, nestled safely in the stables below, while Plutt's snores can be heard from his cabin. Lucky for them, she thinks. Lucky their dreams have not woken them.

"So powerful." The voice had murmured into her ear.

She was sure of the words, bolting up in a cold sweat and her heart pounding, a strange tingling along her thighs and the hot press of a hand at her belly. Rey glances down her at her shift to the place where she had felt that hand.

"Do I frighten you?" It had asked.

"Yes," she says aloud, answering its question from her dream as she gazes up to the waxing moon.

Rey had been too caught up in its eyes to answer before. Swirling shades of amber and black ash, a maelstrom of ruptured stars she was sure would swallow her whole. _Beautiful._ She wonders idly of her own sanity and of the instinctive desire in her to look always to the shadows cast by the trees. 

_The forest._

She bites her lip as her gaze travels to its distant borders, so dark now in the night, like the Stygian gloom of a witch's craft. A saying many in the village would utter when the sun dipped below the horizon and the children were hurried back to the safety of the hearth. Rey recalls them vaguely, the largest part of her memory obsessing over the day they had been exiled. The village's reasoning for such a drastic decision based solely upon the innocent actions of Rey and two other of her adopted sisters, Rose and Kaydel. 

They had meant no harm. 

It was no fault of theirs that the woman had fallen from the pew, cracking her skull and bleeding to death in the church. It had all been meant as good childish fun, mere pranks. But then the utterance of witchcraft, heresy and whores of Satan had spread, ending up at the doorstep of their unforgiving step-father. Needless to say, he blames them for this... and he has yet to relinquish his ire. 

Rey knows this intimately...

The lashes across her back will probably never heal, not with a fresh batch gifted to her every Sunday's morn. 

After all, it was the demon who had spoken to her from the start. At least, this is what the village had convinced itself. Rey herself has never heard the whisper of darkness, not once in her life.

Not until now. 

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End file.
